And Then There Was One
by Autumne255
Summary: Merlin moves on after Arthur's death. And on. And on. (immortality fic)


A/N: Nothing feels real and I'm dead inside. I'm barely functional and I don't know where to go, and everything culminated three days ago when someone close to me died and I never got to say goodbye. This story is a personal catharsis piece, so expect it to be sad. Or not. Who am I to say.

Anyway enjoy.

After Arthur dies, Merlin returns to Camelot. It's different now. The sounds, the smells, the people, everything is the same, but it feels worlds away.

Merlin's head feels light but his body is heavy and he struggles with every step. Every morning after Arthur dies he drags himself out of bed like he has been covered in a ton of rocks..

It's not just Arthur's death that weighs on him. It's Gwaine's death. It's the death of every knight who fought and died in Camlann. It's Morgana and Mordred. It's his destiny.

He imagines he should feel lighter now, without the burden of his destiny. He doesn't.

Guinevere knows everything. Of course she does. She was always bright. She says she understands, but the way her poise crumbles when she sees Merlin walk into the throne room alone, head hung and cheeks streaked with tears, breaks his heart. The way her eyes fill with tears when she thinks no one is looking and blinks them away just as fast.

She has to be strong now. And she is, but he sees the way her hands tremble when she tells allies of Arthur's passing, and how when she returns to her chambers she clutches his pillow, trying to remember what he felt like in her arms. Merlin pretends not to notice her tears and she pretends not to notice his.

It gets a little easier. The kingdom is flourishing. Years have passed, Guinevere is a good queen. She has not remarried and does not plan to. Magic is legal, but few sorcerers reveal themselves. Uther's rule and the execution of magic users is still too fresh in people's minds.

When Merlin shows Gwen his magic, she acts surprised, but they both know she knew. It's a joyous day when she appoints him court sorcerer, if a little uncomfortable.

It's after the first assassination attempt that Merlin begins to suspect that something is strange about him - even more so than other magic users. An assassin from a neighboring kingdom shot him in the heart with a crossbow.

A miracle, Gaius said. It must have just missed his heart, or they treated it fast enough, or a million other reasons that Merlin survived. Merlin knows better. He knows he died, just like he died years ago when he drank poison for Arthur, even though he barely knew him. Like he died when Nimueh shot him in the chest with a ball of flame. When the serket stung him. When Morgana poisoned him in the woods. He knows he has died many times, but it never seems to stick. He ignores it. It's too much to take in, and he can't be completely sure. He pushes it to the back of his mind and tries to forget.

Gaius dies four years later. He was old. He'd been sick for some time. It was a miracle he'd lived as long as he had.

His death never feels real to Merlin. He doesn't cry when Gaius dies, and feels guilty about it. He doesn't cry at the funeral, either. He keeps expecting Gaius to tell him to clean the leech tank, or bring him his favorite meal, or tell him off for something or another. Merlin turns around expecting him to be there, scolding him, and when he isn't his heart turns to lead in his chest.

(Gwen catches Merlin crying sometimes. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't think he knows he's doing it.)

He recovers though. He always does, everyone says. Merlin doesn't mention how right they are, but not in the way they mean it.

His mother's death hits Merlin like a stone slab set directly in his path. He's in shock, practically catatonic, for weeks after her death, particularly when he returns from her funeral. Not eating, not drinking, only getting out of bed when ordered to by the queen. Although he's sleeping for twenty three out of twenty four hours on average, he has dark circles under his eyes.

It's Percival who reaches out first. Practically drags him out of his quarters, to the tavern, gets him drunk, listens to him talk for hours. Percival just sat and quietly and let Merlin talk. He was good at that.

There are wars, as always. Merlin watches knights that he's known for years die defending Camelot's sorcerers, a sight both heartbreaking and inspiring. But there is also peace. Camelot flourishes. It grows. Gwen has a remarkable knack for diplomacy, and forges alliances, makes treaties, expands the kingdom.

She notices her first grey hair when Merlin still looks like a young man. Guinevere has smile lines and wrinkles around her eyes, her body isn't as resilient as it once was, but Merlin looks the same as he did the day Arthur died. She doesn't know if he notices, and if he does, he doesn't mention it.

"Merlin..."

He kneels by her bedside, unable to bring himself to look at her face. To see an old, feeble woman.

Her hair is grey now. Her face soft and wrinkled and her eyes hazy. It's harder for her to see things than it was in her youth.

Guinevere is an old woman. She has lived longer than she ever expected to. She has outlived everyone she has ever known, everyone she loved as a young woman. Except for Merlin, who sits at her bedside with eyes shining with tears, looking the same as he ever has. She reaches out and takes his hand.

He looks down at her wrinkled, fragile hand, and she feels a tear drop onto it. She touches his cheek with her shaking hand and guides his head up, so she can look him in the eye. She smiles affectionately at him and pats his cheek.

"I don't want you to die, Gwen"

She laughs, and it brings on a bought of coughing. Merlin's shoulders tense, ready to spring to action to help her

"I don't think it's really up to you," she chuckles. Merlin shakes his head and looks at his lap.

"Look at me, Merlin," Gwen says. He complies. "It's okay. I'm old. I've lived a good life. I have loved, and lost, and had adventures most people only dream of. I don't regret a thing about living, and I don't fear death." She touches his hand gently. "Don't cry, Merlin. I'm going to to be with Elyan, and Arthur, and my father again."

"Don't leave," Merlin says.

"I'm not going anywhere," Guinevere laughs.

"Please. Don't leave me alone."

Queen Guinevere has outlived everyone she ever loved. Her father, her brother, her friends, the love of her life. The knights died one by one, some on the battlefield, some off. Leon died in his sleep, not three years ago. Percival was killed on patrol, near where Gwaine died. One by one she has watched her friends, her advisors, her confidants die. She has outlived them all, except for Merlin, and now she will die, and he will be left completely alone. No one to mourn with. No one to talk to. Unable even to die.

"I'm so sorry," she says. Her heart is getting weaker. Her breaths are more shallow. Her hand trembles on Merlin and he clutches it like a lifeline.

"No! Please, Gwen! Stay...stay with me"

She is gone.

Merlin drops her hand and cries. Cries as he hasn't cried in years, his dace in his hands, slumped next to the body of his last remaining friend. His shoulders heave with sobs.

"Please.

Take me with you."


End file.
